


Cringe

by Yenneferrrr



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College AU, F/M, Friendship, Modern AU, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:33:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23676925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yenneferrrr/pseuds/Yenneferrrr
Summary: The one where Mulder and Scully meet in college. Or as I like to call it, 'The one where Mulder and Scully get high and have sex together until she has to go off to med school'.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So... I originally wrote this for The 100 fandom, but I liked it better with Mulder/Scully rather than Abby/Marcus. The song that inspired it is "Cringe" by Matt Maeson. I'm planning one more chapter, so hopefully I can get that out tomorrow (seeing as half of it is written already). Sorry for any grammar mistakes!

She could feel the thump of music coming from the living room. Monica was having yet another one of her famous parties. She recognizes the song, and glances at the alarm clock on her bedside table. 

It reads 12:37 A.M.

Her window is open, letting in the night breeze, and she pushes herself away from her desk. The studying could wait until the morning, she tells herself. 

Her parents would kill her if they knew how she had been living with Monica, her new friend. She had gone from goody two-shoes, straight-A, overachiever Dana Scully to barely wake up in time for class, flirt with the married Algebra professor, wear too little clothing, get high in the bar bathroom, bad girl Dana.

She hadn’t missed her old lifestyle at all, not one bit. She was free to do what she pleased, whenever and however she liked it. She knows Monica had a huge part in the transformation, but it had been a long time coming. She had been ready to snap since the moment her high school diploma was placed in her hand. 

She wasn’t naive, though. Her desire to be a successful doctor wouldn’t go hand in hand with the current lifestyle she was living, and she’d be foolish to think otherwise. 

One of these things would have to go, and soon… her dream or her happiness.

And at the sweet smell of marijuana drifting through her door cracks, she decides she’ll choose later. She opens her bedroom door and descends down the staircase, into the raging party. 

She laughs at how different the music is now, taking a backseat to the early 80s. Numerous people recognize her as she pushes her way through the crowd, her final destination being the kitchen, where she knows she’ll find the host of the party. 

Monica, head tilted back, is blowing a cloud of smoke into the air, as she holds the blunt in one hand and a red solo cup in the other. She passes the roll to someone next to her and grins when she sees her friend coming into the kitchen.

“I knew it wouldn’t be long before you’d join us.”

Dana makes a stride for the stranger who’s currently holding onto the weed, and snatches it out from his hand before he can bring it to his lips. 

Monica laughs.

She hits it hard, taking a longer drag than intended, and the empty-handed stranger cocks an eyebrow at her. Impressed and intrigued. 

“I’m Jack,” he says, offering up his hand for her to shake. She blows the smoke straight into his face, but he doesn’t waiver, doesn’t make a move. 

“And I need better weed,” she deadpans, flicking the nearing end of the joint into the sink. She turns, leaving him empty handed in the kitchen next to her friend. 

She wasn’t looking for a guy like him, or a guy at all for that matter. She knew his type too well, thanks to parties like this. Casually dressed in khaki shorts and a button down polo, all that was missing were the fucking Sperry shoes and a sweater draped around his shoulders. 

“Told you she wouldn’t be interested,” Monica says with a smirk.

“You can’t blame me for trying,” he snaps, keeping his eyes focused on the illusive girl as she disappears in the crowd. Retreating back to her room, there’s only one thing she wants. 

She slips out the front door this time, passing other party goers that are lounging on her patio furniture without a word. The fallen leaves crunch underneath her shoes as she rounds the corner and heads towards the back of the house. 

Her lighter sparks, a flame lighting her face just long enough until the tip of her joint is burning. She closes her eyes as the aroma fills her lungs, and when she bumps into him, her eyes fly open.

“Whoa,” she says, a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. “I- I’m sorry,” she starts, but quickly stops herself from saying anymore. This was her house. She had nothing to be sorry for. When she moves the joint back between her lips, she groans when she realizes the burn has grown cold. “Shit,” she mutters, reaching back into her pocket for her lighter.

But he beats her to it, holding out his own with a ready flame for her to take advantage of. She narrows her eyes, and he can finally see her face in the brightness of the fire. Slowly, she leans forward until smoke fills the air again.

He doesn’t hold out his hand for her to shake, not like that pretty boy back inside of her house, and she can appreciate it. So, as a half-assed apology for bumping into him, she turns the joint towards him. 

Their fingers make the slightest contact as he accepts it from her, and she fucking shivers. 

She chalks it up to the cool weather. 

“Ah, you’ve got the good stuff,” he finally says, offering it back to her. She nods in agreement, and makes no move. “You come to a lot of these parties?” 

“I live here. I’m obligated.”

“You live with Monica Reyes,” he asks, dumbfounded. She takes another hit, and nods her head. “Since when?”

“Last semester.”

He lets his eyes run over her, and he’s surprised when she offers up her joint to him… again. 

She can feel the effects of the drug start to take hold, and in the dim light of the moon, she can finally see how attractive her new acquaintance is; nothing like the douchebag inside, she comes to realize. 

And it only takes until they’ve smoked the rest of her joint for her to decide she wants him. 

She falls back against the side of the house, her back colliding with the cool, wet shingles. Her hands grab fistfuls of jacket, and pull him along with her, effectively trapping her. The stark contrast of his hot body against her chest with the cold vinyl against her back causes her to arch up against him, and he’s just as turned on as she is. 

Their lips crash in a messy, uncoordinated kiss. He taste like beer and the sugar paper she had used to roll her weed in, and she doesn’t want him to stop kissing her. 

She slips her tongue into his mouth as his hands come down on her waist, anchoring her in place. She tilts her head to the side, deepening their kiss and he moans into her mouth as he presses against her. 

Add ‘making out with a total stranger’ onto the list of things her parents would kill her for. 

And what she was going to do next would give them each a stroke, for sure. 

She pushes him away from her, ever so slightly, and takes the lead. 

He follows her, wordlessly, through the front door and up the stairs, to her room. Even as Jack Willis stands in the kitchen, oblivious to it all.

She closes and locks the door behind her. 

If he weren’t slightly buzzed, he’d take the moment to study her room, to commit the little details to memory. Like the way her desk was cluttered with books, notes, and highlighters. How there seemed to be a pile of dirty, sorry excuses for clothing scattered about her open closet. The white string lights tacked to her wall. The dark, multi-layered sheets that made up her bed. 

She forcefully pushes him back onto her mattress, and he watches helplessly as she pulls the layers over her head, one by one, until all that’s covering her is a black lace bralette and matching panties.

He goes hard, instantly, and sucks in a breath. She’s by far the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in his life, and the fact that she delved into some of his own favorite extra-curricular activities was even more of a turn on. 

She takes a balanced step forward, and he reaches out for her, his hands wrapping themselves around her waist, until the come to her lower back. She’s towering over him, her hair spilling over the sides of her face as she looks down.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” is all she says. 

He shrugs off his jacket, pulls off his shirt, stands in the small amount of space she’s left him to unbutton his jeans. He barely gets them down his legs before she’s pushing him back down, and crawling over him. 

‘This is fucking wild,’ he thinks. ‘I don’t even know her name.’

It’s as if she could read his mind, because as she straddles him, and comes to rest her weight on his growing erection, she spills her secret.

“My name is Dana,” she says in an unsteady, shaky breath.

“Mulder,” he spits out, almost incoherently upon feeling her rub against him. 

She seeks out his lips again, initiating a kiss so deep, he thinks he can taste her soul. He’s lightheaded now, and not from the weed. Her skin is on fire beneath his fingers, and even with her window open, he can feel his palms sweat with a need to touch her. 

Her lips are swollen as she breaks off their kiss, dragging her teeth across his neck. She finds a spot, the one where his shoulder meets the crook of his neck, and his fingers curl violently against her hips. 

It’ll leave bruises in the morning.

“I’m twenty-four years old,” she whispers against his skin. “Physics major.”

“Twenty-seven. Psychology.”

His hands come up to palm her breast through the black lace, and she lets her head lull to the side, her tongue coming out to moisten her lips. She feels him slip his fingers under the confining material, and pulls it over her head. Her perky, firm breast bounce back against her chest, and he nearly comes at the sight. 

He lunges forward, his lips covering one perfect nipple, drawing it into his mouth and sucking. He teases her with a light nibble, and she clutches a fistful of his hair at the slight pain he’s caused her. 

“I want to be a doctor,” she offers, reaching between them to free him from the boxers. The remaining air leaves his lungs at her fingers wrapping around his length. 

This was going to be over as soon as it began if she keeps it up, and he wonders if that’s the point. 

“I want-“ There’s no use in finishing, because she’s hastily pushing her dampened panties to the side, guiding him where they both want him to be. 

She’s so wet, and tight, and incredibly hot. 

He freezes under her, letting her take control. She stops halfway down him, her fingers gripping his shoulders for leverage. Her knees are planted on either side of his legs, and his head falls back against her wall with a loud ‘thud’. 

“You,” he finishes. “Jesus Christ,” he swears, savoring the feeling of her stretching over him, blinding light behind his closed eyes. She slides down even further, until he hits a spot that he can feel. She stops moving at that moment, their lips only breaths apart. She realizes she’s shaking, and looks down at him through half-parted eyelids. 

He’s throbbing inside of her, and desperate for her to move. When she does, it’s sweet torture. She rises the length of him, just enough to keep the tip of him inside of her, stills, and sinks back down without blinking an eye. 

His heart is pounding so hard, and fast, he can hear the blood rushing in his ears, can feel his pulse in his fingertips. 

It’s dangerous, she knows, fucking some random guy in her bedroom, with no protection, and without a single care in the world. 

The thought sends her into a frenzy, and she’s grinding even harder until he’s hitting that spot inside of her, over and over, and she feels it. 

It hits her without warning, and she throws her head back, fingernails digging into his skin. Her mouth is agape, her eyes dark with lust, and she lets out the sweetest cry he’s ever heard in his life as she falls apart around him. 

—

They become inseparable over the course of the semester, and if she’s not studying, she’s off at his apartment… getting high, barely clothed in his oversized hoodie and a pair of underwear. 

Things were easy with him; easy to talk to, easy to agree on things, easy on the eyes, easy to please. 

And although she wasn’t fond of the idea of a new found relationship before the start of medical school, there was something about him that she couldn’t shake. She depended on him just as much as he leaned on her, whether it be a bad day at work, a bad fight with her family, whatever may have put them in sour moods. 

It’s winter break now, and bundled in her room with a blanket her grandmother had made for her, one of Mulder’s New York Knicks sweatshirts, and a bag of quality weed, bought from none other than her older sister.

He’s propped up against her wall, sitting on her bed in just his baggy joggers, watching as she expertly rolls a joint for the two of them to share. He’s almost positive he’s in love with her. 

Some song that he’s never heard before, but likes, is playing in her room. 

“Merry Christmas,” she says, passing over the freshly rolled joint to him. 

“But you always get first hit. Am I dreaming,” he teases her as he accepts the gift, turning it over in his hands as she digs a lighter out from her desk. 

“I’ve been known to give up the privilege for people I really like,” she says, bringing the lighter to life. It doesn’t take nearly as long for it to take effect like the rest of the stuff they’ve smoked before, and he nearly coughs as he passes it to her.

“Where’d you get this from?”

“Melissa,” she says with a wicked grin, making him chuckle at the thought. Surely, Bill and Charlie were up to no good, as well. 

“What would your parents do if they knew how abominable their daughters were?”

“Kill over, for sure,” she says without missing a beat, pacing the floor as she takes her turn, blowing smoke out into the growing haziness of her room. It’s not long before she joins him on the bed, fitting perfectly in his side. His arm goes around her instinctively, as it’s always done, and they share his Christmas present.

“Do you ever wish things were different,” she says softly, watching the smoke slowly clear through her cracked window. 

“Different how?”  


“I don’t know… different. Do you wish people didn’t look at us like we’re the scum of the Earth when we’re together? Or that they didn’t call us Mr. and Mrs. Spooky?”

“So you don’t want to go chasing monsters with me anymore, is that it,” he playfully jesters. Even through the cloud of marijuana, she’s giving him her best serious expression. He sighs. “I think we’re headed towards that idealistic future both of your parents have dreamed of, for you at least. It’s inevitable. People grow up.”

She silently nods. 

“But I also think… that there’s a time limit on things like this. And that we have to enjoy every moment of it.”

Something ignites within her at his words, and she softly grabs what remains of their fun from his fingers, sets it in the glow in the dark, alien ashtray he’s gifted her, and slowly straddles him. 

He watches her under dull eyes, his hands coming to rest on her bare thighs as the sweatshirt rides up her body. She stares at him, refusing to pull her eyes away, wanting to remember every single detail of the moment. The way his beard stubble is starting to make an appearance, having spent the last couple of nights at her place. How his traps loom over his shoulders, firm and built. His eyes, green and dilated, looking her over carefully. The sparse hair on his hard chest. 

She wants to tell him so badly, that she loves him, but the fear that comes with ruining whatever it is they have trumps that want. 

So she kisses him, instead.

A slow, passionate, breathtaking kiss. One that she hopes will convey whatever it is she feels for him. They kiss for what seems like hours, deliberately taking their time with each other. He gently sweeps the hair away from her neck, were he plants kisses next. Her body is on fire, tingling, where his tongue laps at the skin of her collarbone. And when he gently bites her, she lets a moan drift into his ear. 

He inhales sharply, his hands inching higher up her waist, collecting the material of the sweatshirt as he trails up her sides. He’s greeted with her flat, toned stomach. She shivers in his arms as the cool air clashes with her heated skin. She’s not wearing a bra underneath the sweatshirt, and when he pulls it over her head, his mouth immediately seeks her out. 

Her fingers thread themselves in his hair, at the back of his head, and she finds herself involuntarily rolling her hips against him, trying to create the sweet friction she craves most. She knows he’s not wearing any boxers underneath his sweatpants, because she had taken them off of him herself… last night. 

He’s flicking one of her nipples with his tongue, causing both to harden under his touch. The sensation of cold air and his hot mouth makes her dizzy.

Their positions change, and she finds herself on her back, chest heaving with anticipation. He’s nudged his way between her thighs, and lowers himself to pay attention to her toned abdomen. Trailing his tongue from the underside of her breast, down her rib cage, and finally to her navel, where she squirms under his mouth. 

He peppers tiny kisses here and there, lower and lower until his tongue teases the edge of underwear. She feels his thumbs hook on either side of the material, and she draws her knees up as he pulls the lace over her thighs, over her knees, and down her shins. 

It’s her turn to inhale sharply as he lowers his face to her, his hands on the inside of her thighs and keeping them pushed aside. With her head thrown back against her pillow, all she can do is feel him. 

She can feel his eyelashes brush against the inside of her thigh, his beard stubble, and his tongue. 

Oh God, his tongue. 

He licks her, from bottom to top, and uses the tip of his tongue to swirl around her most sensitive area.

“Ah,” she moans, her hips rising off from the bed. His fingers come down from one thigh to spread her open to him, his tongue pushing past her folds and into her. “Mulder.” His name leaves her like a prayer, and he slowly pushes a finger into her, all while keeping his tongue trained on her clit. 

It’s suddenly hard to breathe, and there’s a tightness coiling within her that can only mean one thing. But she wants him to be inside of her when she comes, and she’s able to gently push him away before it’s over. 

She hastily pushes the waistband of his joggers over his sharp hips, and he kicks them aside, crawling back over her body and settling between her legs. 

Her tiny hand snakes between them, her cool fingers wrapping one by one around his girth. His head falls to the pillow next to hers as she guides him to her center. Hands hooking under her thighs, he drags her legs up so either of her knees are pressed against his ribs as he pushes further, deeper inside of her, not giving her a chance to catch her breath.

“You really think there’s a limit for stuff like this,” she asks, breathlessly, referring to their earlier conversation. It always turned him on when she could manage a few words during their sex. 

“God, I hope not,” he manages with a heavy voice. 

—

February 23rd. Her birthday. A Friday.

Monica had insisted on throwing her a party, but she had declined. And he was grateful for that, being that he had a special night planned for them.

He’s waiting for her once her last class of the day lets out, and she pushes past the crowd of students to get to him. He’s excited to see her, and it’s evident on his face.  
She’s got her hands shoved into her jean pockets, her bookbag hung over one shoulder. 

“Hey, birthday girl.” She cringes at the reminder of becoming another year older, but smiles nonetheless. 

He’s surprised when she leans up on her toes, balancing herself with a hand on his crossed arms, and presses a quick kiss to his lips. She had never been fond of public displays, but it was her birthday after all. 

“Hey, yourself.”

“Let’s get you home to change out of these clothes. We’ve got some celebrating to do,” he says with a playful grin. 

And as promised, he’s taken her home for her to get ready for their evening. She doesn’t ask where they’re going, doesn’t ask what he’s got planned, because she’ll know it’ll be fun as long as he’s with her. 

So she puts on a black dress that has a few buttons down the front, a plunging neckline, and short sleeves. There’s a necklace tethered behind her neck, and a pair of black doc martens that are insanely hot on her. 

Part of him wants to just stay inside, lock her inside of her bedroom, and celebrate her birthday in other ways, but he wants tonight to be special for her. 

It’s not much, but he takes her to a small, hole in the wall restaurant that has good food, but better drinks. They sit a table in the corner, mostly to themselves, and she orders a Gin and Tonic. 

He’s not worried how much it’ll cost him tonight, not quite ready to share that part of his life, how his parents were footing the bill for school, his apartment, everything; because he had a strong feeling that her situation was quite the opposite. 

She’s loosening up, smiling and laughing more, thanks to the alcohol. They eat in comfortable silence, and when their server clears the table, she orders another drink. 

“Someone isn’t holding back tonight.” He’s got the white straw from his own drink between his teeth, chewing the ends. 

“Isn’t that the point,” she says, taking another sip of the alcohol. And before she can place the glass back on the table, a group of servers are approaching them. She groans, closing her eyes in agonizing embarrassment as the rest of the people in the building turn her attention towards her, and he eats it up.

He claps along with the generic birthday song they sing to her, off-tune, and watch as they set a small, pink frosted cake in front of her, complete with a sparkler as a candle.

“Really,” she deadpans, looking up at him with a knowing look.

He laughs as she desperately tries to quickly blow out the sparkler, and as the servers leave their table one by one, she sighs. 

They shuffle out of the restaurant after he pays for the bill, and pile into his car. She reaches over and laces her fingers with his. There’s a ‘Velvet Underground’ song playing softly over his speakers as he drives them out of the city, into the darkness.

He pulls into an abandoned gravel road, and only squeezes her hand. After a few minutes, they top a hill, and he parks the car. She’s able to see the entire city from where they are, and is speechless. 

He gets out of the car first, digs her two favorite blankets out from the back, and opens her door, offering his hand out to her. She takes it, letting him pull her from her seat. He lays one blanket on the hood of his car, and she carefully climbs atop. He hands the other blanket to her, which she drapes over her legs, and he joins her. 

“I’m pleasantly surprised, Mulder,” she says in the quietness of the night, and as she does, he grins and opens his jacket, revealing a handful of rolled joints. 

“Better than you hoped or better than you imagined,” he asks, getting to the chase and lighting one for her. 

“Both.”

It’s all perfect, she thinks; the dinner, their quiet car ride, the view, him next to her, and their favorite hobby.

She blows a cloud of smoke out into the night sky.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! Here's the last chapter! I didn't want to make this a long, multi-chapter fic. I'm also aware that the timeline may be a bit off, but hey, that's showbiz baby! Sorry for any grammar mistakes!

The month of April approaches quickly, with March being a blurry combination of spending her time with Mulder and tucking herself in the back of the library to study. And it’s in the middle of one lonely, sober night that she realizes it’s time to make the break for good. It’s a decision she’s not fond of, but knows she must make. 

So she distances herself. Slowly, at first, chalking up her sudden absence to all the studying she has to catch up on. She cringes every time she hears the lie come out of her mouth, knowing full well she could recite the material by heart, upside down, with her eyes closed. 

She stops going over to his apartment. She stops seeking him out after class. She stops letting him into her bedroom. She stops hoping to see him at one of Monica’s parties. She stops herself from becoming that person her parents feared. 

She stops caring all together.

At least, it’s what she had told herself; and realizes that it’s the furthest from the truth when he catches her trying to leave the house. 

She’s on the cusp of running late for a meeting with her academic advisor. She’s in a rush out of the front door, dressed in clothes that will soon become the new normal for her.

He pushes himself away from the handrail of their wooden porch when he sees her, but he’s not quite sure what he wants to say. She stops in her spot, her car keys hanging anxiously from her fingers. It’s the first time in nearly a month he’s seen her, and he frowns. This isn’t the Dana Scully he knew, this wasn’t the girl he was in love with. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. 

“I’m running late,” is all she says, unable to meet his eyes. She can tell, even without looking at him, that he’s upset, and hurt, and confused. She knows she’s the only one to blame, dropping him at a moment’s notice with no explanation, no reason why. 

“Did I do something to upset you,” he asks softly, reaching out to grab a hold of her arm, stopping her in place next to him. She comes alive under his touch, his warmth awakening parts of her that she had consciously ignored for the past four weeks. 

“No, Mulder,” she says softly. “I guess… we just reached our limit.” He recognizes the familiar words, the same words he had spoken to her a few months ago. He had only meant for them to comfort her in her decision process; never had intended for her to use them against him like this. 

–

She catches a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirrors that line the entrance of the hotel. She wants to roll her eyes. Hooked on Jack’s arm, she takes careful and calculated steps in heels that give her an extra four inches of height. Her black, strapless dress hugs every curve and plunges low in her back, where Jack’s hand has been the majority of the evening. Her hair, courtesy of Monica, has been pinned halfway up and slightly curled. 

She would break more than one heart tonight, that was for sure. 

He leads her through the crowd gracefully, making sure to take his time so people can catch a glimpse of her on his arm, effectively showing her off. It’s the annual FBI recruit ball, and she can think of at least a dozen other things she rather be doing. 

It’s been years since the chance meeting in Monica’s kitchen, where Jack had taken his shot and failed to impress her. She’s not quite sure how they’ve reconnected after all these years. 

“I’m almost positive that’s my boss checking you out from across the room,” he says in a low voice, into her ear. She follows his gaze, eyes landing on none other than one Fox Mulder. 

She tenses against Jack, the air in her lungs suddenly too hard to exhale. She can feel her palms start to sweat and her heart is pounding so hard, she feels sick. 

He looks different… professional. His hair is slicked back, and his black suit makes him look like something out of a James Bond movie. She can feel her chest grow hot, and she’s almost certain the flush in her skin is evident, even under the dim ballroom light. 

“I’m going to grab a drink,” she mutters, gently pulling away from him and heading for the bar. It doesn’t take long for Jack to find a fellow academy recruit, striking up an easy conversation with the man.

She asks for a gin and tonic, the drink bringing back distant memories. Her birthday, the restaurant with Mulder, sneaking away to lounge on the hood of his car. She closes her eyes as she waits for her drink to be poured, and suddenly feels his presence next to her. 

“Whiskey, neat. Please.” His voice cuts through the white noise of the crowd, and she slowly turns to him, her eyes dragging the length of his body until she’s met with his hazel orbs. 

“Never thought I’d see you here,” she says softly, fighting the urge to lean into his side. 

“I could say the same.” He turns, giving her his full attention, and she can’t help the smile that slowly spreads across her face. “How have you been,” he asks sincerely. 

“Okay,” she says, blindsided by the wave emotions that crash into her. She had missed him terribly, and although she was quite pleased with the way her life had unfolded so far, she couldn’t help but shake the sense that Fox Mulder had meant to be apart of it. She had never really been a strong believer of fate, but there she stood. “What about you? You seem to have done well,” she motions at him, and he chuckles.

“Ah, I guess if you consider being locked away in the basement of the FBI ‘well’, then I’ve surpassed your expectations.”

And although he’s grinning, she’s frowning. How had they grown so different? He senses her concern, and reaches out to brush her shoulder with his fingers. 

“Hey, I’m fine. Really.” What he had really wanted to tell her was not to feel sorry for him, that he was doing just fine without her, but that he had missed her every single day that passed, and never stopped thinking about her for a moment. 

He decided now, and here, was not the time or place for that. 

“So whatever happened to medical school?”

They’re both presented with their drinks, and she sips on hers slowly before answering him. 

“I graduated in May.”

“So you’re just here as his date,” he asks, his head nodding off towards Jack. She can’t help but to be the one who’s grinning now, taking the subtle hint at his jealously. 

“Do I detect a bit of jealousy?”

He laughs at that, and she waits patiently for an answer. She did, in fact, want him to be jealous. She wanted Mulder to see her on Jack’s arm, rip her away from him in some alpha display of possessiveness, and drag her back up to his room where he’d show her exactly how much he missed her. 

“I um...” He clears his throat, and sips at his whiskey. “I’m glad you’re happy,” he says, raising his glass to her. “Your parents must be thrilled with your life choices.” He doesn’t mean to sound like an asshole, but can see the flinch in her face as the words leave his lips. 

She’s fuming. How dare he? How dare he try to make her feel guilty about wanting something more than late night ghost chases and getting high in a run-down rent house? She thinks that maybe it was for the best that they’ve never made their way back to each other, and especially now. 

“It was nice to see you, Mulder,” she says under her breath, turning to leave him. 

“Scully, wait-”

But she’s gone, stalking across the ballroom dance floor and making her way back to Jack. He lets out a defeating sigh, running his tongue over his teeth as he watches another man snake his arm around her waist, how the stranger’s hand finds it’s way to that spot in her lower back. 

“Fuck,” he curses softly, only his ears hearing the desperate word. 

And for the rest of the night, she tortures him from across the room. She’s laughing at whatever ridiculous thing comes out of Jack’s mouth, she’s leaning into his side whenever his arm goes around her, her hand splays against his chest in a possessive manner, she leans up on her toes to whisper something into his ear; something bold enough to form a grin on Jack’s face. 

He considers leaving, giving in to her games and letting her win this round. And it’s as he contemplates the pros and cons of leaving the ball early, alone in the high-scale cigar lounge of the hotel, that she walks in… alone. 

She finds him seated in one of the leather loungers, his glass of whiskey resting between . She’s hit with the smell of thick cigar smoke, even in the empty room. His tie is loosened and hangs around his neck. 

He looks lost… confused, much like that day on her front porch. And her heart breaks. 

“Come to say goodbye,” he asks, bringing the alcohol to his lips and downing whats left in the glass. 

She stalks closer, and closer, until she’s finally standing in front of him, forcing him to look up at her. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, finally. And she’s not quite sure if she’s apologizing for that day she’d left him in a broken mess on her front porch, or about not calling to check in with him, or about pretending nothing ever happened between them as all these years passed by, or maybe about all of it. 

He doesn’t say anything. 

“I could make a list of excuses, of reasons why I did what I did to you. I thought… I thought at the time, that I was doing what was right.” She knows he can piece it together, that what she talks of is her uncertainty in her ability to balance the demands of medical school and a relationship. “But I was so wrong,” she says breathlessly, her eyes scanning his suit-clad body once more. God, how she had missed him. “I should’ve called. I should have-”

He’s pushing himself up from the chair, after setting aside his empty glass. He towers over her, even as she wears the uncomfortable heels, and frames her face with both hands. 

“I shouldn’t have let you go,” he says sternly, eyes fluttering down to her pouty lips. She’s all but begging for him to kiss her, to rekindle that part of their lives she thought had long been extinguished. Both of her hands sneak past the black tux, fingers clutching at his white oxford shirt. She breathes deep, his cologne filling her nostrils. She sighs, and closes her eyes. But when his thumb gently passes over her bottom lip, her eyes open and her lips part at his touch. 

And even though she’s standing in front of him in a floor length, black dress with, elegant looking as ever, he still sees the twenty-four year old physics major who had a disposition for wearing his clothes while getting high in his bedroom; he still sees the girl in jean shorts and old band t-shirts that he fell in love with over six years ago. 

He kisses her, softly, and time stands still. The years they’ve lost don’t matter anymore, and it’s just her and him. Her lips are so soft, just like he remembered. His tongue slides against hers, and she moans softly into their kiss. She’s clutching at his hips now, parting her lips to grant him deeper access into her mouth. It sends a wave of pleasure through her, her arousal becoming apparent between her legs. It’s almost like the years hadn’t passed at all, at how easy they’re able to pick up where they were left.

She feels them moving backwards, all while their lips are locked in a brutal kiss. There’s something hard behind her back, and he’s able to fully press himself against her. She’s missed this, missed him, and the way his hard body feels against hers. She doesn’t think about her date in the next room, doesn’t think about how she’ll get home. She knows Mulder will take her anywhere she wants to go. 

His growing hardness presses into her thigh and she grabs a fistful of his hair, keeping his lips trained on the junction of her neck and shoulder. His hands have claimed the spot of her lower back, his fingers sliding underneath the material, teasing the top curve of her ass. She gasps into his mouth, and she suddenly realizes where they are, and who they’re surrounded by. 

“Mulder,” she moans his name, and his hand is suddenly trailing up her thigh, the slit in her dress revealing more and more skin. He reluctantly pulls his lips from her neck, but refuses to back away from her. 

He wonders if this is a part of her that’s changed for good. The old Dana Scully wouldn’t have cared, would’ve pushed his pants down to his ankles, hiked up her dress, and demand he take her there and now. 

He smiles, in the dimness of the cigar lounge, and reaches up to fix a piece of her fallen hair. 

He supposes it’s for the best. But he’s curious to see what else about her has changed. 

“Come on,” is all he says, lacing their fingers together and pulling her away from what she sees now is a bookcase. Her lips are still swollen from their kiss, her skin still tingling from where his fingers brushed the spot of her lower back, her blood boiling from his grip on the inside of her thigh. 

He pulls her past the open ballroom, where she catches Jack’s eyes in a split second. He’s standing with a group of other new agents, his mouth slightly parted in disbelief as he watches from afar. And it’s over before she knows it. Mulder is leading her through the lobby, out of the elegant glass doors, and hails a cab. 

She prays that Jack doesn’t come after her. Not here, not now. The only thing she wants is Mulder, and she can’t imagine a scenario where she’s not a complete bitch to Jack, just to get him to take the hint. 

The ride to his apartment is a surprisingly short one, and if she had known all these years that they lived mere minutes from each other, maybe she would have made more of an effort to contact him. He pays the cab driver, and helps her out of the car. They’re left alone, on the side of his street, and she sighs, reaching down to take off her heels. It shortens her drastically, and his heart nearly bursts at how perfect she is. How could he have ever let her get away?

–

They waste no time, having done enough of that already, and clothes are coming off. She lets her heels fall to the floor somewhere near his own work loafers, and he’s untying the back of her dress, just behind her neck, which keeps the elegant material on her body. His blazer joins her heels, and she grips his tie as he gently pulls the silk down her body. It pools around her feet, and she’s left in black lace before him. 

He’s forgotten how to breathe. 

Her skin feels hot under his touch, and he all but rips the tie from around his neck. She’s unbuttoning his white shirt, and when she’s met with his newly toned, tanned body, she licks her lips. It’s quite different from the tall, lanky college boy she had slept with years ago. 

They take their time getting re-accustomed with each other. 

But when he’s had enough teasing, he lifts her up against him, without warning. His hands hook under her thighs as he hoists her in the air, her legs wrapping around his waist as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, as if they’ve done this for a lifetime. 

–

When the morning comes, she wakes first. Turning in his bed, she’s greeted with a sight she wish she could have forever. His face is turned towards her, relaxed in slumber. His hair is mussed from their nightly activities, and he looks peaceful. She wears one of his New York Knicks shirts, one that’s too big for her, and stops mid-thigh. She’s thrown back to those nights in college, where she’d hoard a collection of his shirts. 

When he wakes, he won’t tell her about how he’ll be leaving for England in less than forty-eight hours, and she won’t tell him about how she’s joined the FBI, despite the protests from her family. 

So she slowly gets out of his bed, running an anxious hand through her hair. She knows she only lives a few blocks away, but can’t seem to picture herself walking down the street in just his t-shirt and an old pair of his boxers. 

Quietly, she slips into the living room where she calls her sister. Pleading, with a sly grin on her face, to come and pick her up at his apartment, and to hurry. Melissa makes it there in record time. She watches through his living room window as her sister parks the car in front of his complex.

She picks up her dress, her heels, and leans against his door frame, watching him sleep. Part of her wants to wake him, to talk about what happened between them all those years ago. But she was about to start a new chapter, a demanding and unrelenting work schedule that would leave hardly any time for personal matters. 

She can’t stand to hurt him like that twice. So she leaves.

–

Two years later…

“"Einstein's Twin Paradox, A New Interpretation. Dana Scully Senior Thesis." Now that's a credential, rewriting Einstein.” He smirks at her, her old college thesis in his hands. Shock didn’t come close to what he was feeling the moment she stepped through his office door, claiming to be his new partner. “Is this what you were working on so studiously that last semester,” he jokes, letting her paper fall to his file-ridden desk.

“Did you bother to read it?” 

“I did. I liked it.”


End file.
